we could be enough
by sawitinhereyes
Summary: she had to learn how to roll with the punches, how to throw caution to the wind and take a risk. the only thing she regrets is that she didn't learn that lesson sooner. / Logan & Rory, five years later.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** I wrote this before the revival, so obviously it's not consistent with that, but it's canon with the original series.

{ I own nothing }

* * *

It's funny sometimes, she thinks, the way life surprises you. Not like a big, jump-out-of-the-closet-and-scare-you kind of surprise, but a slow, gradual, turns-into-something-you-never-expected kind of surprise, the kind that just occurs to you one day and makes you wonder how you got there. If you had asked twenty-two-year-old Rory what she thought her life would be like in five years, she doesn't think she ever would have guessed she would be where she is now.

When she graduated from Yale five years ago, there was so much uncertainty, and Rory _hates_ uncertainty, hates it like she hates coffee with too much creamer and not enough sugar. When she took the job as a reporter on the campaign trail, she was looking for something to latch onto, something to give her a sense of purpose, and it did, for a while. But once the election was over and her job went with it, she was back to square one.

She had to learn how to roll with the punches, how to throw caution to the wind and take a risk. The only thing she regrets is that she didn't learn that lesson sooner.

... ... ...

She doesn't know what she's doing here, really. Okay, she _knows_ , but she still can't really wrap her mind around it. When she was a student, she always avoided these things, these networking events with esteemed Yale alumni, because they were crawling with CEOs and corporate litigators and congressmen, or whatever. If only back then they invited successful journalists, too.

She doesn't know that she really fits the description for this kind of thing. She doesn't consider herself an "esteemed" alumna. Yeah, she's got her blog (which, okay, pulls in a pretty respectable readership, if her ad revenue is any indicator) and her nationally syndicated column with the Times that she somehow managed to snag a few years ago. (Alright, if she's being honest, she's actually done pretty well for herself.) But she wouldn't count herself with the Logan Huntzbergers of the world or anything.

And just as she thinks his name, yep, there he is, manning his own booth across the room.

She should have known he'd be here. Really, she was naïve to not consider the possibility. She's followed his career over the years, knows his business venture in San Francisco took off almost immediately and he made himself into a billionaire overnight. She's proud of him, she really is, especially since he did it all without his father's support, financial or otherwise. She would hope his father's swallowed his pride in the last five years, but you never know with Mitchum Huntzberger.

She also knows that he sold his company just a few months ago and moved to New York. The media has speculated endlessly as to why (Is he burnt out? Heartbroken? Addicted to prescription drugs? Oh, the horror!), but she's heard through the grapevine that Honor's husband Josh ran off with their Brazilian nanny and left her high and dry with two young kids to take care of. It wouldn't surprise her if Logan moved back to help her out. Family-man Logan Huntzberger; wouldn't _that_ be a bombshell for the press.

She wants to talk to him, to find out how he's doing, but she doesn't get a chance until the alumni event later that evening. She knows he's always hated these things, these cocktail parties where it's all about making connections to get ahead. After all, they spent more than their fair share of these sorts of parties making fun of most of the people in attendance. She wonders if he remembers that, how much fun they used to have, stealing bottles of champagne and making out in side-rooms of various venues.

Not the best train of thought to be following as she finally catches his eye.

She watches as he excuses himself from a conversation, and she looks away and takes a sip of her drink to try and compose herself. Why the hell is she so nervous? It's just Logan. It's not like she's thought about the way they left things every day for the last five years or anything.

 _Shit_.

"Rory Gilmore," he greets her, his voice low and gravelly, just loud enough so she can hear him over the din of conversation. He's got that stupid smirk she's always loved, and even though he looks older and more mature, he still has that mischievous glint in his eye like he's up to something. God, her cheeks must be as red as the heart pounding in her chest.

"Logan Huntzberger," she replies, and winces. All this time, and she really can't come up with anything better than that? "I can't believe you're here without your arm candy tonight. Which Victoria's Secret Angel are you on now?" There, that's better.

His eyes sparkle as he laughs. "Not really appropriate for functions like these. Besides, two months of hookups does not a long-distance relationship make."

"I'm sure there's a line of girls forming in Manhattan who would be more than willing to mend your broken heart," she teases.

He smirks. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Come on, I've never known Rory Gilmore to _not_ have a guy drooling over her. I should know, I was that guy, once upon a time."

"Now that you mention it, that lawyer you were talking to has been trying to catch my eye all evening."

He chuckles but doesn't respond, just keeps on smirking. She wishes he would stop with the smirking because her heart is doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did and she needs it to stop.

"You haven't changed a bit, Gilmore."

She feels the side of her mouth quirk up, sips her drink to mask it. "What are you doing these days? I heard you moved back to the city not too long ago."

She knows she's hit a nerve because he takes a pull of his scotch, won't meet her eyes. Well done, Gilmore. She almost rolls her eyes at herself.

He looks at her, downs his scotch, hands the empty glass to a passing waiter. "You wanna get out of here?"

She's only been here for less than an hour, but she doesn't know anyone else anyway, and she has a lot of questions that are probably better suited for a more private setting. So she nods. "Sure."

She barely has time to pass off her drink before he's pulling her by the hand toward the door. He helps her with her coat, dons his own, opens the door for her as they step into the cool October night.

They walk slowly down the streets of New Haven for a while before he speaks again. "I'm really glad I ran into you tonight."

She looks over at him, but he still won't meet her gaze. "Me, too. It's been a long time," she says breezily, though she feels anything but.

"Five years," he confirms.

It sounds as though he's been counting the days, but maybe she's just projecting.

"I read your column," he says suddenly, and she blushes. "Every week. It's really great, Rory. It's witty and entertaining but intelligent and thought-provoking."

"So just like me, then," she quips, smiling.

"Your modesty is mind-boggling," he laughs. "Do you love it?"

"I do," she answers. "It's challenging, but I really like it, and I'm really proud of it."

"You should be." He smiles at her. "I'm proud of you, Ace."

 _Ace_. Oh, God, there goes that fluttering again. "Says the man who made himself into a multi-billionaire virtually overnight."

He chuckles. "Been keeping tabs on me?"

"Hard not to when your face is on the cover of every tabloid."

"Touche."

"Shame you had to sell, but at least you got your money's worth."

"Yeah, well." He looks up at the sky. "The money's not everything."

She knows he's trying to tiptoe around it, but she doesn't want to. "How's Honor doing?" she asks quietly.

He nods, swallows, clears his throat. "She's … alright," he hedges. "Taking it one day at a time."

Rory just looks at him. "I think it's amazing that you moved back to take care of her."

He lifts one shoulder, looks down. "It's just not fair to her and those kids, Josh walking out like that. He doesn't really want anything to do with the kids anymore, just wants to pay her his child support and alimony and lay on the beach in Rio." He scoffs angrily. "Douchebag." He pauses. "The kids need a male figure in their lives, and I wanted to spend more time with them anyway. The timing just happened to fit, but I fucking hate the way it all went down."

She's quiet for a moment, trying to come up with the words to say, but nothing comes to her. He clears his throat, looks over at her apologetically. "Sorry."

She shakes her head. "I'm sure you've been keeping a lot to yourself, trying to be sensitive to her and the kids," she reasons. "You've gotta let it out sometime."

He lets out a long breath. "Yeah. Just not really how I thought our first conversation in five years would go."

She pauses, decides she'll take the opening. "How did you think it would go?"

He's quiet for a moment. "You know, I don't know, but there's a lot I've wanted to say to you for a long time now."

Yeah, she figured. She's a little afraid to hear what he has to say, but they've gotta start somewhere, she supposes. She spots an outdoor table at a closed coffee shop, takes a seat, and he follows suit. "So tell me. Let me have it."

"I'm sorry."

Well. She certainly wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"About my proposal," he clarifies, looking her square in the eye. "I was an idiot."

She shakes her head. "You were _not_. Don't say that."

"It's true," he insists. "My timing was terrible. We were in two completely different places in our lives and I should have seen that. I was ready to settle down, but I shouldn't have assumed you would be. Hell, I wasn't ready when I graduated, why should you have been?"

She can't believe what she's hearing. "Logan—"

"Rory." He puts his hand over hers, and suddenly she's twenty-two again. "I should never have given you that ultimatum. I should have been willing to take what I could get."

She shakes her head. "No, you shouldn't have. You were so right, when you told me you didn't want to go backwards. You deserved to have someone who could commit to a future with you."

"But I didn't want _someone_ , I wanted _you_ , and you weren't ready." She needs some space, needs to _move_ , so she stands, and he follows suit. "You needed time to figure out what you wanted, where you were going, and I should have respected that."

"I hurt you," she argues.

"Yes, Rory, it hurt," he agrees. "It hurt like hell to let you go."

"So why are you acting like it's all your fault?"

"Because it was. Because it _is_ ," he insists.

She shakes her head. "I could have fought harder. I could have tried harder, I could have just said _yes_ —"

"Rory, look at me." She takes a deep breath, meets his eyes, and he continues. "You did what you had to do. You were true to yourself, and that's something that I've always loved and admired about you. You did the right thing, turning me down."

"Really?" she scoffs. "Because I've felt like I did the _wrong_ thing every damn day for the past five years."

He's quiet for a minute. Processing, she thinks. She tries to do the same, but her head is spinning. Everything she thought she knew about them, about the way they ended things, has been turned upside down, and there's no going back, but she doesn't have a clue where they go from here.

Finally, he takes a deep breath, looks her in the eye. "I've missed you, Ace."

She just looks at him, lets out a long breath. "I've missed you, too."

"Then come here."

She obliges, wraps her arms around him, her face pressed against his neck. They stand that way for a long moment, and she feels the ghost of his lips along her hairline.

When she finally steps away, he doesn't let her go far, holds her hands in his. "So."

"So." She looks up at him. "What now? Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I'd say first we get a car back to the city."

"Logan."

"Ace." His lips quirk into an affectionate grin. "Let's just figure it out as we go, alright? We don't have to hash everything out tonight. We still have a lot to talk about."

"I've got time."

He breathes out a laugh, and she pouts in response. "So do I. We've got all the time in the world. Patience is a virtue, Ace."

She mumbles something about where he can shove his virtue and he laughs, pulls out his phone to call the car company. She can't help the smile that creeps in when his back is turned, loves the way his eyes sparkle when he turns around and smiles back.

... ... ...

He walks her to her apartment door, leaves her with a kiss on the cheek and the promise that he'll call her tomorrow. It's not the goodbye she wanted, but that's okay. She's waited five years for this. She supposes a little bit longer won't kill her.


	2. Chapter 2

{ I own nothing }

* * *

She's on her way home from the _Times_ office when her phone rings in the bottom of her bag. She rolls her eyes, because now she has to dig through her entire bag to see who the hell is calling her at 5 o'clock on a Wednesday evening, and of course it takes so long she misses the call. That about sums up her day, she thinks.

Now she has her phone in her hand, but she's so annoyed that she doesn't even care to check who called, until it rings _again_. She doesn't even check before she answers. "This is Rory Gilmore."

"Ace, I'm dying here."

She wasn't expecting to hear from him tonight, or anytime this week, really. They've been talking off and on for the last month or so, getting together for drinks here and there when the time allows, but they've both been busy with their own things. He'd told her last weekend he'd be out of town on business for the week.

Nevertheless, she feels her mood lighten, just a little bit, at the sound of his voice. "Logan?"

"What, there's someone else out there who calls you Ace? I'll have you know I'm patenting that nickname. I'll sue them for copyright infringement."

She can't help but smile. "Is everything okay?"

"It's a disaster," he whines. "There's pink _everywhere_ , and I can do movie marathons and hide and seek and forts but tea parties? Barbies? _Makeovers_? I'm way out of my depth here. I'm calling in reinforcements."

"I could help you, I guess, if I knew what the hell you were talking about."

"I'm at Honor's in Brooklyn. I'll text you the address."

He hangs up before she can ask anymore questions. So much for her evening in with Chinese and Netflix.

... ... ...

She tries to put the pieces together on the subway ride to Brooklyn. (She knows he'll be upset that she didn't call a car, but rush hour traffic in Manhattan is insane. It would have doubled her trip time, and he sounded desperate.) Obviously he's not out of town. She's trying not to jump to conclusions, but she's a little annoyed that he lied to her, or at least omitted the truth. This - whatever the hell they're doing - is not going to work if they're not honest with each other.

By the time she approaches Honor's brownstone, she's prepared to give him a piece of her mind, but when he opens the door, he looks so disheveled and relieved to see her that the words fly right out of her head.

"Thank God," he breathes, pulling her inside by the arm. He hurriedly takes her bag and coat and sets them on the table in the foyer. "They're vicious. _Vicious_."

"Logan," she giggles. "What is going on? Why are you babysitting Honor's kids on a Wednesday night?"

"I'll explain later," he promises. "I'm trying to make dinner, and they're fighting and destroying the living room and oh my _God_ little girls can scream. Brace yourself." He pulls her into the living room. "Girls, I have a friend I want you to meet."

Two beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed little girls blink up at her from the floor, and she waves. "Hi. I'm Rory."

They stare blankly at her for a moment. The older one speaks first. "My name is Amelia. I'm five years old. Do you like Barbies?"

"Um." She looks at Logan, who's vigorously nodding his head yes, and she does the same. "Yes, sure, of course."

"Oh, good," Amelia sighs. "Uncle Logan _hates_ Barbies."

"He does, does he." Rory grins at him in amusement. He rolls his eyes. "I, um… I've forgotten how to play, though."

Amelia's eyes light up. "I can show you! I'm the best at Barbies. Charlotte's only three and doesn't know how to play Barbies either. She doesn't listen to me, so she can't play with us."

Poor Charlotte looks like she's about to burst into tears. "I want to play," she whines.

"Amelia," Logan warns.

Amelia rolls her eyes (well, it's a valiant attempt for a five-year-old). "Fine. But Charlotte has to be Cinderella Barbie. Her hair's all knotted and her dress is ripped."

She sees Logan roll his eyes in her peripheral vision and stifles a laugh. "Just play nice, okay? I'm going to finish up dinner. Rory…"

"I've got it," she assures him.

He pecks her cheek gratefully. "I owe you big time for this."

He disappears into the kitchen while she kneels on the ground. "Alright, Amelia, which Barbie do I get to be?"

... ... ...

By the time they get the girls in bed two hours later, Rory feels like she's just run a marathon. She collapses on the couch in the living room. "I feel like…"

"Like you just ran a marathon?" Logan finishes from the kitchen.

"Maybe a marathon and a half." He hands her a glass of wine and sits down next to her, his arm falling across the back of the couch behind her. "You weren't kidding. They are a handful."

"I swear to God, I don't know how Honor does it," he chuckles. "She must be a superhero or something." He sips his wine and looks over at her. "I seriously would not have survived this night without you. Thank you."

She waves him off. "It's no big deal. I didn't have anything else going on."

"Well, I still really appreciate it." He holds up his glass. "To surviving."

She laughs. "I'll drink to that." She takes a sip and sets her glass down on the coffee table. "And now, I believe you promised me an explanation."

"Yeah," he concedes sheepishly, "I suppose I did. I'm taking care of the girls this week."

Her eyes bug out. "You've been here like this for _three days_ and you just now called for help? I'm impressed, Huntzberger."

He chuckles. "In their defense, they were perfect angels on Sunday and Monday."

"Now _that_ I'd like to see," she laughs. "Why the whole week? Where's Honor?"

"Her friends planned this surprise getaway for her and I volunteered to help out. She's been…" he mulls over his words, his jaw clenching. "It's been rough, the last few months. I mean, she's amazing, and the girls hardly know anything's wrong, which is incredible. But she's barely treading water."

"I can't even imagine," Rory breathes out.

"I've been helping out here and there, picking them up from school or babysitting. She deserves this, and I can afford to be away from the office for a few days."

"You're amazing," Rory tells him.

He shakes his head. "I'm just doing what I can."

"Logan." She lays her hand over his where it rests on his leg. "You moved your entire life here to be there for her, and for the girls. It's… it's more than anyone would expect, and yet I'm not the least bit surprised, because that's who you are."

They're quiet for a moment before she speaks again. "Why didn't you just tell me you were staying here? Why did you make up a story about going out of town?"

He sighs, shrugs. "I don't really know," he admits. "I guess… this whole thing has been so private. We've kept as much of it within the family as we can, and I'm not… I'm not used to trusting other people with it. Any part of it. I don't want people to know more than Honor wants them to."

"Okay," she nods. "That makes sense, but Logan, it's just me."

"Yeah, but you…" he turns to face her. "It's been five years since we've done this, since I've had someone around who knows all the gory details of my family. I'm just not used to it anymore. I'm not trying to shut you out, I just… I don't know how to do this."

She looks down where their hands are joined, squeezes his in hers. "I don't know what this is," she starts. "I don't know where this is headed, or what we want it to be, but if we want it to be anything at all, we have to trust each other."

"I know."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"You're just lucky I turned out to be very good at playing Barbies."

He smirks. "Saved me from being the worst uncle in the history of uncles."

"They might have staged a mutiny if I'd taken any longer to get here."

"Ha, ha. They loved you. Rub it in."

"Please," she scoffs. "They'll have forgotten me by tomorrow. They adore you, Logan."

"Yeah, well." He waves her off. "I'm their only uncle. I don't have much competition."

She wants to argue with him, but she can tell he's exhausted, so she bites her tongue. "I should probably go. I'm sure you're gonna fall asleep any minute."

"No, stay," he insists. "Please. Unless… I'm sure you have an early morning tomorrow. Nevermind."

"No, I… I don't have anything tomorrow, actually." As much as she desperately wanted Chinese takeout and Netflix on her couch, she wants to spend time with him more. "I can stay for a while, if you want."

"I want," he smiles. He gets up off the couch and heads for the kitchen. "There's a _Twilight Zone_ marathon on, if you'll find that for me, Ace."

"Oh my God, you're such a dork!"

"I'm popping the popcorn!"


	3. Chapter 3

{ I own nothing }

* * *

He knows something's not right when Mitchum shows up in his office unannounced.

Logan can count on one hand the number of times his father has set foot in the offices of his company. Once in San Francisco, once here in New York right after Logan moved back, and this moment right here. Logan's pretty sure the other two times were opportunities for Mitchum to turn his nose up at his son's accomplishments. After all, he still calls the multinational corporation a "start-up."

He's not quite sure about this time, but anytime something involves Mitchum Huntzberger, it can't be good.

"Logan." His father stands over his sleek glass desk, and Logan stands to greet him, shakes his hand.

"Dad. This is certainly a surprise. Please, have a seat."

"I'm afraid I can't stay long. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I should deliver this news in person."

Logan feels his spine straighten. "What is it?"

"It's Richard Gilmore. He had a heart attack last night, and he passed away this morning."

 _Rory_.

"I know you got to know him well years ago, so I thought you might like to know."

Mitchum keeps talking, but Logan's not listening. There's only one person he needs to talk to right now.

... ... ...

"Logan."

"Ace, I just heard. Are you- where are you?"

"I'm in Hartford."

"Where you should be. I'm on my way."

"Logan-"

"I'll see you in a couple of hours. Hang in there, okay?"

... ... ...

He's halfway to Hartford before he starts to think he's probably overstepping the bounds of this… this thing they've got going, whatever it is. It's been three months and he's still not really sure what they're doing. They're not dating (hell, they're not even _kissing_ ), but they're definitely not just friends, either.

So what does that mean, exactly? What does he, as more-than-a-friend-but-not-a-boyfriend, do in her time of crisis?

No, fuck that, he decides. They've known each other for almost ten years. He's known Richard and Emily for longer than that. There's no blueprint for how he's supposed to handle this. He just knows she's hurting, and he wants to be there for her. He wants to help her family in whatever way he can. If she has a problem with that, well, then, they've got bigger issues to deal with.

The way she wraps herself around him when he pulls up to the house says she definitely does not have a problem with that.

... ... ...

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"I'm not hungry."

They're up in her old room, the room her grandmother decorated for her all those years ago. It's strange being back here after all this time. He didn't think it would be, but it is. This room, especially, is like a time capsule.

"Ace."

"Logan. I'm fine."

She's standing at the window, watching the string of black sedans pull up and various members of Hartford's social circle stepping out of them. Her black dress is a stark contrast against the snow coating the trees and the ground outside. There's probably a literary term for that, and he's sure she'd tell him, if they were anywhere else.

She's got more important things to think about at her grandfather's wake.

He stands behind her, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. He wants to touch her, but he doesn't know if she wants to be touched. She's not hungry, she's not thirsty, she doesn't want to go downstairs. He feels completely and utterly useless.

"What can I do?" He pleads. "What do you need me to do?"

"Can you-" she clears her throat. "Can you go make sure my mom has eaten? And my grandma?"

He nods. "I'll bring you up a plate of something."

She shakes her head. "I'll be right behind you. I just need a minute."

He can hear the emotion in her voice, and all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her, comfort her in whatever way she'll let him. But she doesn't want that from him, not now. So he just nods and leaves her to it.

As soon as he closes the door, he hears her let out a sob. It takes every ounce of strength in him to walk away.

... ... ...

He knew Rory's stubborn streak was genetic. He's just never seen it played out quite so plainly before. Lorelai insists she's not hungry, and so does Emily. He even goes so far as to bring them both plates of food, which they politely decline, even after he insists. _Rory's orders_ , he says, and they roll their eyes at him in identical fashion.

Three generations of Gilmore girls. You'd think one of them would let him do _something_.

So he stops asking, he just _does_. He follows behind guests and picks up the trash, informs the caterers when a dish is running low, pours drinks for guests who ask for them. He feels a little strange, playing host in a house that isn't his, but Emily is preoccupied with well-wishes and condolences, and he figures that's plenty for her to worry about.

He's leaning against a wall with a glass of scotch, watching Rory interact stiffly with some of her grandfather's colleagues, when Lorelai appears beside him. She follows his gaze. "She's really happy you're here, you know."

He smiles politely. "She doesn't really want me to do anything."

"That's because you've done enough. Just being here, it's enough, Logan."

"It doesn't feel like enough," he admits. "I don't feel like I'm helping one bit."

"You are." He looks over at her, finally. "She'll tell you in her own time, but it means so much to her that you came. That you dropped everything to be here for her. She recognizes that, even if she can't say it yet."

He nods. "Thanks, Lorelai."

"Sure." She nods toward her daughter. "Why don't you bring her a glass of water, take her upstairs for a bit. She looks like she could use a breather."

"Finally, something I can do."

... ... ...

"You looked like you were drowning a little bit, so I figured I'd throw you a life saver," he jokes when they're back up in her room.

She cracks a small smile. "They're not so bad. They mean well."

He watches her as she paces. She seems so heavy, so tired, like the weight of the world is sitting on her shoulders. He supposes that's how it must feel, to lose someone so important to you.

(He felt something similar, once upon a time, about five years ago. He doesn't imagine that kind of pain holds a candle to the kind she's feeling.)

"Why did you come?"

He's not expecting that question. He's not really expecting her to speak at all, to be honest. "What?"

"I mean, you didn't have to come. Not right away, not like you did. So why did you?"

He shrugs. "Because regardless of what's going on between us right now, we have history, you and me and your grandfather. I felt like there was nowhere in the world I needed to be more than I needed to be here for you."

Her pretty eyes well up and a sob escapes, and he closes the space between them to wrap his arms around her. He tries to soothe her, but it's like the dam has opened and he can't patch it up. So he just holds her, lets her grieve, because that's what she needs from him, so that's what he'll give her.

... ... ...

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night, and the first thing he notices is he's still in his dress clothes. The second thing he notices is that he's in Rory's bed, and she's not.

He waits for his tired eyes to focus, only to find her standing at the window. Talk about déjà vu.

"Ace," he says quietly, voice gravely from sleep, and she turns to face him. He stands, stretches his arms above his head, moves toward her. "What are you doing up?"

She shrugs. "My dress was tangled around my legs. I just got up to change." He sets his hands on her upper arms, pulling her closer. "Did I ever thank you?"

"For what?"

"For… everything," she marvels. "For being here, for taking care of me, for… for being you."

He smirks. "No, I don't suppose you did. But you don't need to. I told you, this was the only place I needed to be."

And then, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, she leans up, presses her lips to his, just once. Because he's never been able to resist her, he swoops in, steals a few more kisses, rests his forehead against hers. "Thank you," she whispers. "For everything."

He shakes his head. "Ace."

"I have a request," she begins.

He clears his throat. "Okay."

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "Can we stop tiptoeing around this?"

"This?"

"Us. Whatever we are. Can we stop being in limbo?"

"I hate limbo."

"Worst party game ever invented."

"We should definitely not be in limbo anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He takes the opportunity to kiss her once again. "Especially if not being in limbo means I get to do that."

She presses her lips to his, wraps her arms tighter around his neck, and his hands unconsciously circle her waist. _Fuck_. He didn't realize how much he'd really missed her, missed _this_ , until this moment right here. No kiss has ever made him feel the way a Rory Gilmore kiss does.

"Limbo sucks."

He chuckles against her lips, ducks down to kiss her again. It's like he's twenty-three again, falling in love for the first time and diving in headfirst. This time, he's not afraid of where it might take him. This time, he's gonna do it right.


End file.
